


You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies.

by consultingcriminal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sabotage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcriminal/pseuds/consultingcriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't know where your interest lies, Sherlock. Really, you don't."<br/>John's on a date trying to get laid, and Sherlock, blinded by love and jealousy, shows up. John will have to relieve himself of his sexual frustrations some other way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies.

_"You don't know that you love me_  
You don't know but I know that you do  
You may think that you're above me, yeah  
What you think isn't always true... You don't know where your interest lies."  
\- Simon and Garfunkel. __

__

____

John Watson wasn't gay. At least that's what he told everyone who tried to assume that he and Sherlock were an item, but he noticed that Sherlock never denied it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more accepting Sherlock seemed to be of the entire constant ordeal.  


'People will talk,' he remembered himself once saying.  


'People do little else,' was Sherlock's reply.  


Of course, John was thinking all this while he was supposed to be listening to tonight's date ramble on about the brand of her clothes, or something or rather. He didn't really know.  


"John?" She asked, waving a hand in front of his face.  


"Oh, sorry, what were you saying?" John asked, forcing a smile to his face.  


He zoned in just as she lifted her glass of wine and tipped it over his head. He let out a gasp, less at the fact he was now wet, and more at the fact he was paying quite a few pounds for that wine she'd so carelessly wasted. "Never mind," she said, standing up and gathering her things. "I'm not going to bother wasting my time."  


John watched as the woman walked out of the restaurant, and he ignored the rest of the eyes that rested upon his wet self. He pulled out his wallet and begrudgingly dropped a few bills on the table which would cover their food, and got up and left.  


Shrugging on his coat, he hailed a cab, and made his way back to Baker Street.  


Once he arrived, he paid the cabbie and got out. Sherlock was lying on the sofa when John came in, and John didn't fail to notice that Sherlock was wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, his back facing John.  


John couldn't help but look at Sherlock's body, looking at the way his skin seemed to glow under the winter moonlight. It looked soft and warm, and John had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the detective's skin.  


"Date didn't go well, then. In fact, you got lost in thought so she tipped her wine over you. I bet you weren't pleased about that," Sherlock said, not even looking at John.  


"How'd you know?" John asked as he walked into the kitchen, switching on the kettle.  


"You smell of wine. A lot of your dates don't go well nowadays. You get lost in thought and then they usually dump you because of me or something I've done." Sherlock's voice seemed almost smug, and John knew he'd be smirking towards the back rest of the sofa.  


"Yes, well, thank you."  


"I'll have a tea too, thanks."  


John rolled his eyes, but didn't tell Sherlock to piss off like he'd wanted to. He went to grab the tea bags, and realised that Sherlock had moved them to the top shelf.  


"Sherlock," John said between gritted teeth.  


"Yes, John?" Sherlock replied innocently.  


"What the _fuck _are the tea bags doing on the top shelf? You know I can't reach them all the way up there."__  


"Oh, I forgot," Sherlock said, feigning innocence as he stood up. He smiled triumphantly behind John's back.  


John felt Sherlock coming up behind him, and before he knew it, Sherlock was pressing against him, reaching up to grab the tea bags. His bare skin felt warm against John's clothed back, and for some irrational reason, John felt his stomach tighten at the feeling. "You're awfully wet, John," Sherlock murmured in his ear as he stepped back. "You should go get changed. I'll take over here."  


John gulped and turned around to face Sherlock. Instead of shouting at the detective, demanding to know just what he was playing at, John found the wetness of his shirt to be rather unpleasant, and so he sighed and wandered upstairs to his room.  


As he picked out a clean shirt, John's mind wandered back to his thoughts from the restaurant. He wasn't gay. He couldn't be. He only dated women. Women made him feel good and he liked kissing them and touching him... But when he thought about it, he quite liked the idea of kissing and touching Sherlock, even if he'd never kissed him or the touching was absolutely minimal. And who was he to deny the fact he'd had many an explicit dream about the curly haired man with the Cupid bow lips, which proved to be more useful than just spilling out deductions. John shook his head. Now really wasn't the time to be thinking such thoughts. He had to change his shirt and go back to Sherlock, and he'd rather not grace Sherlock with the knowledge that the detective had given him a very noticeable erection.  


John sighed as he changed his shirt, throwing a cream coloured jumper on over top. He ran a hand through his hair, a light brown sprinkled with patches of grey, and then went back downstairs, where Sherlock sat, two steaming cups of tea on the table. The detective looked up at John as he entered, his eyes travelling over the doctor quickly, before settling back on the tea on the table. "I made you your tea, just as you like it," Sherlock said calmly, nodding towards the drinks.  


"Thanks," John said slowly, sinking down into his seat. He picked up the cup with caution, and giving it a taste, he decided that Sherlock hadn't poisoned it. At least not enough to be detected in the doctor's mouth.  


As he continued to sip his coffee, he was well aware that Sherlock (still lacking a shirt) was studying him carefully. John couldn't help but wonder what'd gotten into his best friend. It was like he'd suddenly grown an interest in John. John supposed that maybe the detective was having a random episode of arousal. It was basically unheard of, for Sherlock to be aroused, but perhaps it was, as John thought, just an episode in which he developed a longing to be touched. Or maybe, the other option went, he was just bored and wanted to experiment. Thinking about it, John figured it was most likely the latter option.  


The two sat in silence, both lost in their thoughts. John drank his tea, while Sherlock continued to watch him, wondering just how he could get John to want him. He was walking around shirtless, for goodness sake. He'd pressed himself up against John from behind, sure that his crotch was more or less against John's arse, and if anything, that'd just scared the good doctor. Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh, and curled up on his seat, sulking.  


John looked up at him, wondering whether or not he should say something about the evening's happenings. Deciding against it, he just stood up. "I'm off to bed, I've an early day tomorrow. Night."  


Sherlock grunted in response, and John continued up to his room, closing and locking the door behind him. He sighed and slid down the door. How could so much have happened in one night? Sherlock had deliberately pressed up against him, John knew that much. He didn't know how to feel about it. He wasn't gay, so he kept telling himself, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to twirl around and kiss Sherlock until he was breathless.  


Pushing the thought away as best he could, John stripped out of his clothes and put on his pyjama boxers, sliding into his bed. 

*******  


When Sherlock got up in the morning, John had already left for work. Sherlock couldn't see the point of it. Couldn't see why John bothered. Wasn't he content with solving crimes with Sherlock? Did Sherlock not do enough for him? How could Sherlock satisfy him?  


John was Sherlock's biggest puzzle. Even after years of living with the man (on and off, of course), Sherlock still couldn't quite work the doctor out. Moreover, Sherlock couldn't work out just what it was about John that kept the man on his mind. Even when John stopped speaking to him after his big return from the dead, he was still playing on Sherlock's mind, his voice an echo inside Sherlock's head. And once he and Mary divorced, of course after she admitted she had faked her own pregnancy (which still puzzled Sherlock as to how she pulled it off), the doctor played on Sherlock's mind even more than usual. Whenever he slept, he had images of John in his mind, wearing his solider uniform as Sherlock sucked him off. Either that or images of John in a tight, white, v-neck t-shirt and camouflage trousers. These sexual dreams and images of John were driving Sherlock insane. He couldn't take much more of it, without at least experimenting with the man.  


Sherlock didn't know what to do with himself while John was at work. Mrs. Hudson was out, and Lestrade hadn't any cases for Sherlock to work on. He flopped down on the sofa, and went into his mind palace. 

John walked into the flat to see Sherlock lying on the sofa, clearly in his mind palace. John had scored himself a date with a woman from work that night, and he hoped it'd go better than the one he'd had the night before. As long as he didn't think about Sherlock, he should be fine. Everything would go well, and if he was lucky enough, the woman might just take him back to her flat where he could make use of his sexual frustrations.  


Deciding not to bother talking to Sherlock - he'd learned long ago that Sherlock didn't like to be disturbed when in his mind palace, even if it did look as though he'd been there all day - John wandered upstairs to his room and began to pick out clothes. He chose a baby blue coloured shirt and black dress trousers. He put them on, and smiled at himself in the mirror. Even he had to admit it, he looked good.  


He sprayed himself with a generous amount of cologne, and ran a comb through his hair, as was his custom whenever meeting a new woman. John wasn't stupid. He knew the reason he was dating a constant stream of women was because he was trying to use them to substitute the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. He couldn't help it though. He couldn't give into the temptation of doing anything remotely sexual with Sherlock, or he'd never be able to forgive himself out of knowledge he'd go too far.  


Checking his watch, John saw it was almost time to go, and so he walked back downstairs to see Sherlock gazing out the window. "You've another date tonight," Sherlock said, his voice lacking emotion - more so than usual.  


"Yep. Yeah, I do," said John, wiping his hands on his trousers nervously. "You'll have to get your own food this evening."  


Sherlock turned to look at the shorter man, his eyes blazing with indescribable emotion. "You're really going out? Look at what happened last night, you're off your game, John."  


"Look, Sherlock, I really don't care. I'm getting out there. I'm meeting new people. People I could potentially spend the rest of my life with."  
Sherlock suppressed a wince, and John could've sworn his eyes grew brighter with emotion. "You just want a quick shag, John. That's all there is to it."  
"I'm not listening to this, Sherlock. I'm going. Don't wait up."  


"As if I would," Sherlock retorted pathetically, watching as John stormed out of the flat.  


It burned within him, this jealousy that he felt, so much so that the detective let out a growl of anger. What more did John want? How more could he show John he wanted him with every fibre of his fucking being? Sherlock clenched his hands and stormed over to the window, watching as John got into a cab. Sherlock felt he was running around in circles with John, making himself so blatantly obvious that he was crazy about John - and yet he never realised that it mightn't have seemed that way to John himself. 

John knew as soon as he met his date at the pub that things weren't going to go well. She was already on her phone five minutes into the date, and didn't seem as though she was going to put it down anytime soon.  


"Shall we order some food then?" He asked her half-heartedly, rather wishing he was back home in his bed.  


"Hmm? Oh, yeah, in a minute."  


John licked his lips and looked around. He didn't know what to do, what to talk about. He finally settled. "Alright?"  


"Yeah, I'm good," said his date, still looking at her phone. John couldn't believe this was happening. What was the point of going on a date if you weren't even going to participate in conversation?  


The evening grew on, and John was growing more and more frustrated with the situation... more so when he saw a tall, curly haired man walking into the pub, dressed in his usual black dress trousers and the purple shirt that positively aroused John.  


"You have got to be kidding me," John muttered, watching as Sherlock wandered around the pub, picking up bits and pieces until he looked like a waiter - much in the way he'd done when John was proposing to Mary. John's date didn't even look up from her phone.  


Once satisfied with his appearance, Sherlock wandered over to the couple, and raised an eyebrow at John, in a way of I-told-you-so. "Good evening, Sir, can I take your order this evening?" Sherlock asked in a German-lilted voice.  


"We've eaten," John said, his eyes locking with Sherlock's challengingly.  


"Dessert then, perhaps?"  


"No, thank you," John said. "I was looking at going home."  


His date finally looked up from her phone. "Going home? The evening is still young!"  


Sherlock and John exchanged another look, and the expression in John's eyes was so dangerous it made Sherlock reconsider just how good the idea was to sabotage John's date. Not that it was going very well anyway by the looks of it. "Yes, well, I'm feeling rather ill actually. I'm really very sorry about all this."  


"He's had a call from his wife," Sherlock added. "Wouldn't go out with this one again if I were you. He's married. And is terribly infected with chlamydia. But that man over there's not getting lucky tonight. His girlfriend hasn't even pointed out the shaving cream on the side of his face. He's sleeping alone."  


John got up and went to pay, Sherlock following close behind. As he was waiting to be served, John pulled Sherlock down by his collar. "You are in a lot of trouble, Sherlock," he said through gritted teeth.  


Once he'd paid, John pulled Sherlock out of the pub, his hand grasping Sherlock's wrist tightly. Sherlock wanted to tell John he was hurting him, but he remained silent and allowed his shorter friend to get him into a cab. John told the driver the address, and after a questioning glance in the rear-view mirror, the driver nodded and began to drive them home.  


Both men looked out the window. John was still angry, and Sherlock was anxious. All he had wanted was John's attention. He didn't realise John would be so angry about it. He could hear John breathing heavily, much as he did whenever he was upset. And to be honest, Sherlock found John to be very intimidating when he was angry.  


John turned to Sherlock, and Sherlock continued looking out the window. "What the hell was that tonight, Sherlock?" He said through gritted teeth. "Could I not go one night without you messing things up?!"  


"I didn't do anything last night, that was all on you," Sherlock mumbled.  


John chuckled humourlessly. "Right."  


They pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, and John tossed the driver some money before getting out, Sherlock following close behind.  


Sherlock unlocked the door, and went inside, waiting for John to come in behind him. John closed the door with a slam and turned to look at Sherlock. "Well," he said, voice harsh and making Sherlock cringe. "You didn't answer my question. Why the hell did you show up at the pub? You knew I had a date!"  


Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, feeling desperately out of his depth, while John kept his gaze on the detective, every part of his body reflecting his military training.  


"What?" John glared at Sherlock angrily.  


"I-I said I just wanted your attention," said Sherlock, just loud enough for John to hear him.  


Again, John chuckled humourlessly at the irony. "You wanted my attention?! Sherlock, you have my attention every damn day!"  


Mrs. Hudson came down the stairs at that moment, looking between the two of them. She went to ask if they were having a domestic, but stopped herself when she looked at John's expression. Murmuring something under her breath about her evening soothers, the woman rushed back to her flat. "Come on," John said, pulling Sherlock upstairs and into their flat.  


Sherlock didn't fail to notice that John locked the flat behind them. "You don't know where your interest lies, Sherlock. Really, you don't."  


John shoved the detective into his chair and stared at him. "John, please, you're really beginning to-"  


"What do you want, Sherlock?" John interrupted him. "Huh? You have my attention all the time. You go out of your way to ruin my dates, you try to stop me from going on them, and shit, if that doesn't work, then you come along with me! What do you want?" Silence fell around the men, and John finally reached the correct conclusion. "Oh, I know. I know exactly why you've been doing that."  


"John," Sherlock pleaded, beginning to fidget. "Please, don't do this. Let's talk about it tomorrow."  


Still, John continued. "You want me, don't you? You want me all to yourself, and so you sabotage every relationship I have with a woman so that I'll stick with you." Sherlock said nothing. "I'm right, aren't I? Sherlock, answer me!" John shouted.  


Sherlock looked around, trying to find any way at all to get himself out of the situation. How could he admit it to John? How could he admit that he wanted nothing more than for John to be his and his alone? How could he describe to John just how painful it was for him to have to see him with women when he was so impossibly in love with him? Seeing no way out of it, he finally nodded.  


The detective watched as John began undoing the buttons on his shirt. "John," he began cautiously, "What are you doing?"  


"You said you wanted me, didn't you?"  


"Well... Yes. Not like this though."  


"And what do you mean by that?" John demanded, though he stopped undoing his buttons, looking at Sherlock, hiding the curiosity in his eyes behind the anger which still lingered.  


"I sabotaged you because I thought you wanted me. Not because I wanted to ruin everything... I want you to be with me... In whichever way, because you want to be. Not because you're angry and want to punish me. I can see now that I have been sorely mistaken."  


John's eyes softened slightly, and Sherlock acknowledged this, but the doctor saw the effect he was having on Sherlock - the detective having a shameless erection - and so he continued. "Stand up."  


Sherlock stood up and looked at John questioningly. John moved over to the wall, and told Sherlock to go to him. Sherlock complied. John reached in and grabbed Sherlock by his hips and pulled him in close. Sherlock grunted as he looked down into John's eyes, and could feel John's erection against his own. John looked so alluring under the dim light of the room as his hand lifted and twisted into Sherlock's hair. He pulled Sherlock down, and the detective was expecting to be kissed, until John murmured into his ear.  


"Sherlock, tell me now, what... do... you...want...from...me?" Asked John slowly, sensually.  


Sherlock felt his knees weaken beneath him, and he was sure he would've fallen if it hadn't been for John's hard grip against his hips. "You, John. All of you."  
John smiled, the anger no longer there, and began to undo the belt on Sherlock's trousers. "You need to tell me if you want me to stop. Promise me, Sherlock. Promise you'll tell me if I go too far."  


"I-I promise, John." The detective moaned as John pulled down his trousers and pants, leaving them to pull around his ankles.  


John trailed his hands up along Sherlock's bare hips, and up to his silky, purple shirt. "I've always loved this shirt. I'd tear it right off of your body if it weren't for the fact that it looks so fucking sexy on you."  


Sherlock groaned arching his hips towards John. John let out a huff of laughter. "John," he breathed.  


John grabbed his hair once more and pulled him in. "I want to fuck you, Sherlock. I want to fuck you so hard you cry. I want to hear you screaming my name. Will you let me, Sherlock? Will you let me fuck you?" John put extra pronunciation into the word 'fuck,' rocking his erection against Sherlock's. Already, Sherlock was a moaning mess.  


"Yes, John. Anything," the detective gasped.  


"Good," John smiled proudly. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."  


Gently, John led Sherlock back towards the sofa, pushing the man down onto it, before climbing on top of him, still fully clothed. He tugged Sherlock's trousers and pants off from around the man's ankles, and so from the waist down, Sherlock was fully naked.  


"I'll be honest, Sherlock," John breathed, trailing his lips over the skin of Sherlock's neck, "I have wanted you for so long. I have wanted this, for so long."  


"Oh, John," Sherlock sighed, twisting his fingers into John's short hair. "You should've said so."  


"Hmm, you're right. I will next time."  


Sherlock was delighted at the fact that John said 'next time.' That meant that whatever was about to happen, was going to happen again. He felt John trailing wet kisses down along his torso towards his waist, and he knew that John was savouring his taste.  


John kissed in between Sherlock's thighs, before licking the length of the detective's erection. Sherlock let out a loud moan, his grip tightening on John's hair. John took the detective into his mouth entirely, and began sucking the man off with the precision of a porn star.  


Sherlock's size was impressive. What was even more impressive was the fact that John could fit his erect penis into his mouth without gagging. John moved his tongue over Sherlock, pressing into certain nerves, generally making good use of his medical knowledge, causing Sherlock to arch his hips in towards John's mouth. John pulled away with a popping sound, and looked up at Sherlock. "I want you to fuck my mouth."  


"I... You... What?"  


John smiled at Sherlock's unknowingness. "Here, I'll show you." John reattached himself to Sherlock's penis, and, grabbing the detective's hips, he forced them backwards and forwards into his mouth at a fast pace.  


"Oh," Sherlock breathed, understanding what John meant. Finally, he began a rhythm in John's mouth, his groans keeping in time. "John, your mouth is so good."  
John hummed around Sherlock, and Sherlock felt himself unravelling.  


"John, I'm going to cum," Sherlock moaned.  


Instead of stopping, as Sherlock had expected, John continued even faster. Sherlock came in John's mouth, and John swallowed every drop greedily.  


John pulled away from Sherlock's member, and Sherlock pulled him up by his hair, kissing him feverishly. Sherlock could taste himself in John's mouth, and it turned him on more than he could believe. John's hands felt over Sherlock's body in every place he could. Sherlock felt soft under John's hands, and felt that every crevice was made just to fit his hands.  


"I don't suppose you have any lube on you," John groaned into Sherlock's ear.  


"Funnily enough," Sherlock grunted as John began to kiss his neck, "I do." He rummaged around under the sofa cushions, and pulled up an unopened bottle of lubricant.  


John raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless opened the bottle and began to massage it around Sherlock's arse. He started off slowly, just teasing the edges, until it became inevitable. He applied a generous amount of lube to his fingers, and gently inserted one into Sherlock's hole. Sherlock let out a hiss of pain, and John waited until he relaxed around his finger before continuing to work it in and out.  


Sherlock moaned against John's touch. John's touch alone drove Sherlock crazy. He felt everything John did, tenfold. And when John began to brush against his prostrate, it made him grunt loudly, the pleasure already settling in his stomach.  


John waited until Sherlock's body became accustomed to one finger, before he added another, creating a scissoring motion inside of Sherlock. Sherlock's grunts became more frequent, and John finally removed his fingers, instead pulling down his trousers and pants, replacing his fingers with his cock.  


John waited for Sherlock to adjust, and while he did, he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock lay with his head against the armrest at one side of the sofa, his curls falling away from his face, eyes closed, and teeth imprisoning his lower lip. "Oh, Sherlock," John sighed, sliding his hands over Sherlock's body. "You're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful."  


Sherlock felt his heart swell at John's words. No one had ever called him beautiful before. He'd been called a lot of things: freak, psychopath - but never beautiful. "John, god, please..." Sherlock's voice trailed off, but John got the message.  


He began to gently rock his hips into and out of Sherlock, accurately brushing against Sherlock's prostrate each time. Sherlock grunted, gripping the armrest either side of his head, and bit his lip harder.  


John quickly picked up the pace, resting one hand against Sherlock's hip, the other working Sherlock's penis, which was already erect again. "Oh, fuck, Sherlock," he grunted, pumping into Sherlock, "You're so fucking hot. Look at you. Already moaning. You're such a cock-slut."  


Sherlock groaned louder. "Yes, John, oh, yes."  


"You like that, do you? You like being called a slut?"  


"Yes," Sherlock moaned, grabbing John by his waist, pushing the man even faster and rougher into him. "Keep doing it... ngggh."  


"Oh, sweetheart, you're so fucking dirty. You're my little slut, aren't you, darling?"  


"Mmm, yes," Sherlock moaned, tilting his head back further.  


John leaned down, changing the position and ultimately hitting Sherlock's prostrate full-on, and kissed Sherlock hard. Sherlock instantly opened his mouth, allowing John access, and he was breathless as John's tongue inspected every inch of the detective's mouth. John's hands moved over Sherlock's body again, tugging at his nipples, pulling at his waist to get a better angle, and just scouring over the previously barren land that was Sherlock's glorious body.  


John grunted into Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock felt himself getting dizzy. "John, I'm so close."  


"Oh, Baby," John moaned, working harder and faster, resuming his task of jerking Sherlock off.  


It all became too much for Sherlock. John's movements, his touch, his voice, was sending Sherlock into overdrive. John's very touch was electrifying and breath-taking in itself, and Sherlock found it hard to breathe through the pleasure. It was something entirely new to him, and for a fleeting moment, he supposed his should've told John it was his first time.  


"Come for me, Sweetheart," John growled in Sherlock's ear.  


And Sherlock finally climaxed like he'd never done before. "John!" He cried out, tears falling from his eyes as the pleasure became too much. He arched his back, driving John deeper into him, and rode out the rest of his orgasm as John continued.  


John came not too long after Sherlock, and he slowly slid out of the taller man, kissing away his tears. "God, I love you Sherlock," he murmured, kissing Sherlock's wet cheek.  


Sherlock pulled John in closer to him, wrapping his legs around the doctor's waist. "I'm so sorry for what I did, John. But I love you too. I love you so much."  


Both exhausted from the evening's events, the two grinning men promptly fell asleep in their sweaty, sticky position.


End file.
